I do not have the answer, friend.
I do not think I ever will.
The only thing I have to lend:
my ignorance, an inkless quill.
I dare not lay an empty word
upon your throbbing mystery.
I dare not bare a blunted sword
in answer to your inquiry.
But maybe presence speaks a truth,
a phrase no golden tongue can turn;
A silent balm, perhaps uncouth,
that old and young may wisely learn.
This answer, then, I offer now
to ease your pain and dry your tear;
No answer for your why or how,
but simply, silently: I’m here.